


Hello Again

by great_turkey_calamity



Category: Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Multichapter, Multiple chapters, NSFW, Non-binary Pez, Not Beta Read, Smut, TW: arguments, TW: slight emetophobia in some scenes, TW: talks of anxiety and depression, TW: talks of food, This one’s a doozy y’all, Weddings, buckle in settle down and get comfy, post breakup, tw: fighting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:35:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 17,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27084961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/great_turkey_calamity/pseuds/great_turkey_calamity
Summary: Alex and Henry’s relationship went down in flames six months ago. For the sake of the images of their respective families, and the communities they belong to, they’ve been keeping up the act in public.They are less than thrilled to be staying in the same room during the days leading up to June and Pez’s wedding.
Relationships: Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, June Claremont-Diaz/Percy "Pez" Okonjo
Comments: 62
Kudos: 202





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> This is the longest mess I’ve ever written, hope y’all enjoy lmaoo.
> 
> Got this from some prompt online that was like: “we broke up months ago but our families still think we’re together so we have to be dates to [insert function]” 
> 
> I don’t know who the original poster of said prompt was, but if anyone knows, please contact me lol. I would love to give them credit.
> 
> Special thanks to everyone on the RWRB Discord Server who listened to me rant about this and read all my snippets!! Y’all are truly blessed for putting up with me lol.
> 
> Happy Reading!!

Alex finds that he has a lot of emotions brewing as he pulls into the driveway of his father’s lake house.

First and foremost, he is happy. He is excited and overjoyed because, _holy shit_ , June is getting _married_ in just about two weeks. She’s practically been planning her dream wedding since she was old enough to talk— where Alex had his Texas binder two years ago, June has her wedding binder now, and it’s broke in and hefty as hell.

She’s on the porch with Nora, and when they see him, they both scream. No words, just manic, high-pitched shrieks. He allows it, just this once, considering they haven’t seen each other in about three months; they’re working, and he’s slaving away at internships and in NYU law classrooms.

They come running towards him, and he meets them in the middle, wrapping one arm around each of them and holding them tight.

“Alejandro!” Nora exclaims, sounding energetic and already a bit inebriated— how long have they been here? “Dude, I’ve missed you so fucking _much_.”

He snorts. “I’ve missed you so fucking _much_ , too.” He replies, mocking her tone and turn of phrase, which earns him a swat on the shoulder.

He pulls away, looking at his girls. Nora is every bit as bright and brave and unstoppable as she was the last time he saw her in May; she had come for drinks to celebrate the end of another not-so-stellar term. June looks tired, but still poised and radiant, dark circles contrasting comically with the giddy energy that consumes her completely.

“How are you?” He asks, pecking her cheek in a friendly manner. Their meetings are few and far between; he’s missed his big sister.

“Oh, you know, kept tied together with a loose, rapidly fraying thread.” She jokes, and he chuckles. 

  
  


“Ain’t that the truth?” He asks, bringing her into a tight solitary hug and squeezing. “I can’t believe you’re actually getting _married_ , Bug.”

  
  


“I know!” She breathes, voice rising several pitches in excitement. “I honestly didn’t expect to be married for a while longer—“

“Or to be married to Pez.” He supplies, tutting when he’s flicked on the cheek.

“Hush,” June starts, quickly followed by a soft, genuine, “I’m so glad you’re here, Alex. We’ve all missed you.”

Alex sighs softly. “I’ve missed y’all too.” 

He can’t start this up right now. He’s been doing good lately, and he can’t afford to let anything slip him up, so he pulls away and smiles; his smile is the one thing about him that hasn’t really changed. He’s gained twenty pounds in six months and his caffeine dependency is worse than ever. He’s not doing the best.

“Where am I stayin’?” He questions, grabbing the handle of his suitcase.

“Same place you always do, doofus.” Nora replies, and there’s something there that contradicts her playfully obnoxious nature.

“Sorry about that, guys. Philip was calling to pester me with some sort of financial drivel.” An all too familiar voice sneers, one that makes adrenaline flood Alexander’s body, one that makes his hair stand on end.

He actually brings himself to look up to look up from the soil that he’d been digging the tip of his shoe into. 

Lo and behold, It’s Henry, the surprise that literally everyone had been expecting.

  
  


Everyone except Alex.

He looks, well, he looks every bit as uncomfortable as Alexander feels. He looks tired— probably just jet lagged, he tells himself— and he has the audacity to look cold. Who the fuck wears a sweater in _July_ , in _Texas?_

Alex, in a moment of panicked hysteria, wonders if he looks good. 

He very quickly remembers that it doesn’t matter. 

It doesn’t matter how he looks in Henry’s eyes, or what Henry thinks of him, because they broke up six months ago.

They gave it a good chunk of time, after they came out. They’d been rounding on their two year anniversary that January, in fact. He doesn’t remember a lot of it, tries to block it out. He remembers saying absolutely awful things to Henry. Henry was screaming; not just raising his voice like they had before, a rasping, shrill mess of very pent-up emotions. He remembers both of them just giving up and washing their hands of it all.

Now here they are, pretending to be together again for the sake of appearances. They knew that they couldn’t actually break up. Not after being outed like that. He didn’t want to imagine what Mary and Philip would say. So they meet up once, maybe twice a month, and let photographers and paparazzi get photos of them walking down a street in Brooklyn together, or of them on a ‘date’. There’s seldom any interaction outside of that— usually Henry inviting Alex to the brownstone to collect something of his that Henry had yet to purge from the home. That’s inspired a great many drunken regrets, on both ends. Not to say that it didn’t feel good in the heat of the moment.

“Hey,” He mumbles, trying to fulfill the societal norm of greeting someone when one sees them.

“Hello,” Henry replies, cold and reserved, like that singular word stole a small infinity of precious time that he will never, ever get back again.

“I, uhm,” Alex stutters, looking to June. “I’m gonna go inside and settle in. That okay?”

“Go ahead.” June supplies, clearly wanting to ease the tension in the air.

So he starts up the porch steps, and feels a hand on his shoulder as he walks through the front door, immediately hit by a cold blast of air as he’s redirected to the living room and sat on the couch.

“Hello, Pez.” Alex says, a bit off put by this sudden redirection.

“Hi, my dear.” Pez replies, as elegant and timeless as ever, sitting in the chair across from Alex, legs crossed and hands gripping onto the armrests. “What have you been up to lately?”

They makes small talk, Pez ranting on about his latest modeling gig and updates on the shelter, Alex being very curt about law school and paralegal gigs and internships. His sister’s fiancé has a knack for making the lives of other people seem exceedingly boring.

They stand, and they hug. It lingers a bit too long. It’s strangely cathartic for Alex.

“Hey,” He starts, suffering from a severe case of cottonmouth.

“Hey,” Pez replies.

“I’m glad that you two weren’t affected by us.” He admits, allowing himself this small confession. “You two make a great pair.”

Pez is silent, pulling away and clapping Alex on the shoulder. 

“Thank you, my treasure. I think it’s wonderful that June has such a wonderful, mature younger brother.” They say, but it seems like they’re omitting something. “You should go find your room. Oscar will be here any minute now.”

“Alright.” Alex says in return. “See you around?”

Pez laughs. “I would certainly hope so.”

He makes his way down the main hallway, diving into the room he’s stayed in a million times before. The first thing he sees are the bunk beds of his youth, and it warms him from the inside out, knowing that this one thing has been a silent constant over the years. 

The next thing he sees is Burberry; a carry-on and a duffle bag, sat nicely and neatly on the floor in front of the bottom bunk.

This brings Alex to his second emotion: anger.

Are they fucking _kidding_ right now? Do Nora, June, and Pez think this is fucking _funny?_ That this is some sort of _joke?_ How are they supposed to stay in the same room as each other for fourteen days if they can’t even be in the same space without tearing each other apart?

There’s a million and five questions, and ideas, running through his head as he tries to process this. He feels completely and utterly wronged. Still, he pushes it to the side. Their time at the lake house isn’t about him. Everybody is here for June and Pez.

So, he makes the next logical, basic decision, and unpacks. He pulls out shirts; why did he pack this one when he was distinctly aware of the fact that the true owner would be present? He pulls out pants and socks and underwear and everything else he’s managed to cram in his suitcase, and tucks it away into dressers and hangs it up on metal rods before tucking his luggage carrier and negative mindset in the closet, shutting the door with a sort of softness that he doesn’t carry around too often anymore.

Dinner is both delicious and awkward. Oscar invites himself into the kitchen as soon as he’s done greeting everyone; Alex pretends not to notice the way Henry’s hug seems just a few seconds longer.

They're all nursing on mimosas and sitting outside— well, the majority of them are drinking mimosas. One snob in particular with blond hair and a strong jawline turns his down, nose crammed in a book, muttering something about not drinking anymore. Everyone’s in on the conversation. Nora’s lovely girlfriend is introduced. Alexander learns that her name is Daisy, and that Nora met her on a trip to Vermont to meet up with family. She also happens to be doing the photography for the ceremony and reception. He can see what Nora sees in her; they share the same pure, chaotic energy. Her innocent smile doesn’t quite meet her wild eyes.

Throughout this conversation, he feels as if he’s being watched. Every time he diverts his attention from Pez or one of the girls, he finds that Henry’s eyes are flickering away, or that he’s doing something besides reading whatever pretentious fucking novel he’s brought with him. Drumming his fingers on the armrest of his seat. Looking over his shoulder. Rolling his neck and cracking his knuckles. He doesn’t know why, but all of Henry’s little distractions make him agitated. They put him on edge.

  
  


Dinner is eventually served— pollo asado and rice. It feels nice to eat comfort food for once, he’s been making most of his stuff on the go. There’s eating and drinking and conversations so intense and so chocked full of jokes that Nora’s choking on a mouthful of rice and Pez is beating her on the back. 

  
  
  


Henry hasn’t contributed to any conversation all night. Alex is concerned, but also a little pissed off. Why is he even out here if he’s not ready to engage with anyone in conversation, if all he’s going to do is read until he withers away?

Speak of the devil, Henry catches him staring. His brows are raised, apathetic look in his eyes. He has been the victim of this look before an innumerable amount of times. A silent _‘what are you doing?’_ , that’s what it is. He doesn’t have the mental energy to entertain his childish games, and diverts back to the conversation.

Alexander is already working on sleeping when Henry opens the door to the room and flicks the lights on. He groans, mentally damning him and everything else under the sun as he folds the pillow in half over his face.

“Sorry.” Henry replies, and Alex immediately wants to tell him that he isn’t, but the genuineness in his voice indicates otherwise.

“‘S alright.” He says, and it doesn’t cut through the air like a sharpened blade. It’s soft. The softest thing he’s said to him since they called it quits.

“Are you sleeping?” Henry questions, and Alex sighs, sitting up and blinking as he’s blinded by the room’s harsh white lighting.

“Not anymore.”

“Can I talk to you real quick?”

“Promise to _actually_ be quick?” He retorts, pinching his lips into a thin line when Henry flares at him. “Go crazy, I guess.” He proposes, throwing his hands up in the air.

  
  


Henry clears his throat, and sits on the edge of his own bunk. Alex can’t see him, and makes no effort to look. “This arrangement is not ideal.”

“Obviously.” 

His little comment is overlooked. He can only imagine how pissed it makes Henry, how it makes his brows furrow and get that little dent between them. He finds it infuriating that he looks so good that way.

“We’re mature adults. This is a wedding between my close friend and your sister. We can put our tiffs and quarrels to the side for them, surely?“ 

Alex feels a weird lump forming in his throat. “Yeah.” He breathes, feeling strange. “Yeah, we can definitely give it a rest. For them.”

“For them.” Henry agrees, rising up to turn off the light. Alex finds the shade of blue of his sleep shorts to look lovely with his skin. It’s disgusting, how lovely he is.

As light bleeds out of the room, Alex recognizes what that strange feeling is.

Shame.

Alexander is filled to the brim with shame.


	2. Two

The next three days come and go with as little physical interaction with Henry as possible. Every accidental brush of hands or shoulders are met with recoil and rushed apologies. They’re always on opposite ends of a room, if in a room at all together, besides to sleep. 

  
  


Mentally and emotionally, Alex is completely in Henry’s clutch. He’s baited on every single laugh and witty joke and roll of the eyes. He hangs on every word he says, but pretends that he couldn’t possibly care less, pretends that he isn’t even worth listening to. 

Then he’s three or four Shiners in and absolutely loathing himself. Loathing Henry, too. He hates everything about him; hates the way his laugh rings clear and true, hates the way his straight hair turns to waves after he showers, hates the way that his crystal blue eyes widen and sparkle with wonder when Pez tells a complex story or an obscene joke.

He hates, hates, hates it.

He hates that he’s attracted to everything listed above all else. Despises the dreams he has of him from time to time; sweet and kind until they rot and fall apart. They leave him in a haze of brain fog. They leave him angry. They leave him guilty.

This morning, June manages to beat him to the kitchen. She’s standing at the counter, hair tie hanging on by a few stray strands. Containers are spread all around her, and she seems lost in space.

“Hey Bug,” He finds himself greeting, making a beeline for the already-made coffee, pouring himself a mug full of it and grabbing a banana out of a nearby fruit basket. “How’d you sleep?”

“Okay,” June gets out through a yawn, putting the containers back in the fridge— Greek yogurt and strawberries. “You?”

“Alright.” He says, shrugging, watching as she undoes her hair and redoes it before coming to sit with him at the island. “Got anything planned for today?” He peels his banana, placing a chunk of it in his mouth.

She snorts through a mouthful of her own food, shaking her head. “I’m resting today. That reminds me, though,” She says between spoonfuls, head propped up on her hand. “Wanna go over your Dude of Honor duties?” She asks.

Alex smiles. When June had asked him to be in her wedding, he was absolutely thrilled. She claims that his happiness is blown out of proportion. He very much begs to differ.

“Sure, shoot.”

“First and foremost, keep our parents from fighting when Mom and Leo get here.”

Alex grimaces, and takes a long sip from his mug. “Doable.”

“Finish the name cards and table pieces for the reception,” She starts, waving her hand as if shooing something away. “We’ll get that done in a couple of days.”

  
  


“Of course— there can’t be that many people coming.”

“Under forty.” June confirms, and he lets out a sigh of relief.

“What else?” He questions.

“Make sure Nora lives long enough to officiate.”

Alex hums, taking another sip of coffee, chucking his banana peel in the garbage can. “I dunno, sounds pretty risky.”

“I’m sure you can handle it.” She assures him, placing her hand over his, pale pink nail polish chipping. “And there’s just one more thing, but you have to promise not to get upset.”

He instantly bristles. “Why would I be upset?”

“Just promise me, dude.” She instructs, maintaining serious eye contact. 

He takes a deep breath. “Promise.”

“Good,” She starts, looking nervous. “Good. I’m sure you know that Henry is Pez’s Best Man?”

“Yeah, what about it?” He asks, ready to dismiss her woes as pre-wedding jitters.

“Alex,” She says, low and slow. “You’re the Dude of Honor. He’s the Best Man.”

He raises a brow, confused and not at all understanding what it means.

Then it hits him all at once, an over-dramatic gasp ripping through.

“No,” He spits. “Absolutely not.”

“Alex!” June exclaims, pointing an accusing finger at him. “You _promised_ , you dick!”

“You can fuckin’ switch me out with Nora or Mom, because I am not about to walk down the fucking aisle with him!” He hisses, a little more than upset at the moment.

“She’s the one _officiating_ , Alex! I can’t switch y’all out!”

“Mom’s ordained, too!” He shouts, temper flaring. “Let her run the show and switch me out with Nora.”

“You _promised_ me that you would be in my wedding!”

“Yeah, when I was fucking _eight!_ ” He exclaims.

“You put it in _writing!_ ” She reminds him. “It’s in the family photo album, that shit’s legally binding.” She declares.

Alex can’t believe this. Why is she pushing this so hard? It’s bad enough being around Henry, he’s not about to walk down the fucking aisle with his ex on his sister’s wedding day. Nobody could possibly beg, or pay, him enough to do it. Just the thought of it makes him cringe in horror. 

“Well, you can take that promise, and you can just forget about it.” He states, loud and clear. “Because I would rather die than walk down that damn aisle with him.”

  
  


“Duly noted.” A frigid voice states from the kitchen’s entryway. 

Alex feels himself die a little as he wheels around in his seat.

Henry’s leaning against the doorway, already dressed for the day, in a beige polo shirt and a pair of jeans. His arms are crossed over his chest, eyes crackling and raging with fire and thunder, the rest of it shockingly neutral.

He would find it all extremely attractive, if he weren’t currently fearing for his life.

He stutters, floundering for air before speaking. 

“I— I didn’t—“ He stumbles, immediately silencing himself when Henry raises a hand.

“No, no— you clearly did.” He responds, his words scratching against Alexander’s skin like jagged ice. “I’m sorry that I’ve _inconvenienced_ you by showing up for my best mate’s wedding. I thought we had agreed to be civil, but you’ve proven that’s _clearly_ too much to ask of you.”

“I—“

“I don’t want to _hear it_ , Alexander. You can’t just sweet talk yourself out of everything.” Henry tells him, his tone laced with poison. He doesn’t stop there, continuing onward. “I would be _more_ than happy to accommodate you. I’ll be sure to ask Pez to switch the two of us out with Nora and Daisy.” He finishes, turning on his heel and stalking out of the kitchen.

Alex is shocked and stunned.

He’s also in pain, because June has just knocked him upside the head.

“Ow, fuck!” He swears, rubbing at the back of his head.

June proceeds to chew him out for at least the next twenty minutes, telling him how irresponsible and immature he is, lecturing him on learning how to keep his mouth shut. He takes it all, internalizing it. He definitely deserves to be yelled at; what kind of brother is he, demanding that his sister change her wedding plan to accommodate him? He feels gross, down to his very core. 

“You better find some way to make this right, or I swear to God, Alexander,” She says, her face reminding him of an uncontrollable, open flame. “I will fucking end you.” She continues, accentuating every word, spraying saliva onto his cheek. He doesn’t dare wipe it away. “Am I understood?”

He gulps. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good.” She replies, slamming her dishes into the sink and storming out of the kitchen.

He hears a door slam in the distance, and flinches.

  
  


He’s _fucked._


	3. Three

Two days dwindle by, and Alexander still has not apologized.

He’s been meaning to, really, but he doesn’t know how to go about it, not in the slightest. How is he even supposed to, when Henry leaves any room he’s in as soon as he enters it?

It’s no exaggeration; as soon as Alex enters a room, Henry either puts as much distance between them as possible, or drifts out of the room entirely. It’s incredibly subtle, sure, but June glares daggers at him every single time it happens.

It’s around two in the afternoon, and they’re all watching some god-awful comedy in the living room. June is laughing at the jokes. Nora and Daisy are booing, the former chucking popcorn at the screen every time the main character makes an idiotic facial expression or says something meant to be comedic.

“Alex, come help your Auntie Pezza in the kitchen!” A distinctive voice calls out, and Alex heaves himself up out of the recliner and pads over.

“Shut the door, babes.” Pez instructs, and Alex does as he’s told. 

“What did you say to Henry?” They ask, no animosity or anger in their voice. 

This is it— this is how Alexander Gabriel Claremont-Diaz will die. Slaughtered by his sister’s fiancé, at the ripe, youthful age of twenty-five.

He tries denial, first and foremost.

“What makes you think that I said anything?” He questions, leaning against the counter, sharp corner digging into his spine.

“He’s been moping around and avoiding you like the plague.” Pez points out.

“You say that as if that’s abnormal.” Alex snorts, and Pez indulges him, laughing as well.

“Cut the act, Diaz.” They say promptly, and Alex feels fear zip through his entire being. “I’m not your sister. I know how Henry is. Talk to me.” They persuade.

So, he tells them everything that happened a few days previous, from his tangent, to Henry’s silent rage, to June hitting and threatening to end him. Pez is attentive, listening carefully to each and every word, the emotion on their face changing with the flick of a switch. By the end of it all, they look like they‘ve come to a solution, they look sober. 

“Mate, as much as I love you and Hazza, I love and fear your sister just a bit more.” They admit, cracking a brief smile before speaking again. “I really think that you need to apologize to him. It’s been six months. You lot need to move past it. Either that, or face June’s hellish bridezilla fury.” They offer, pretending to weigh the two options with their hands. “Feel free to take your pick.”

He half-wonders if this is what Atlas felt like with the earth placed on his shoulders.

“You’re right,” He sighs, hands scrubbing across his face. “I’ll talk to him, see what I can do.”

Pez grins, reaching forward and squeezing his shoulder. The look on their face is fond. It’s understanding. 

“Good lad. You’re dismissed.” They announce, and Alex laughs, heading back out at the sound of Nora shrieking at the television. 

  
  


The next time he sees Henry is at dinner. There’s about a billion different scenarios running through his head as everyone digs into their cauliflower tacos. He’s so trapped in his own head that he doesn’t even realize he’s staring at Henry until he snaps to and is met with concerned eyes and scowling lips.

He’s on dish duty when he’s finally approached, scrubbing plates and rinsing out cups before placing them in the dishwasher. He’s alerted that someone's in the room with him when he hears the scoot of a chair against the ground.

“Yes?” He asks, greeting nobody in particular. 

“What’s your bloody problem?” Henry asks, and his tone is so full of conviction that it makes Alex jolt.

He closes is eyes, takes a deep breath, and exhales before shutting off the water and turning to face him. 

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He replies, tone even and easy.

“Well, you _clearly_ have a problem, since you’re talking about me when I’m not in the room to defend myself and staring at me for uncomfortable amounts of time.” Henry decides, and although Alex doesn’t want to admit it, he’s got a point.

“Are we really gonna do this right now?” He asks, words clipped and cutting.

“Yeah, I really think we are,” Henry replies, and Alex knows that he’s just unleashed the beast. “Because I really did make a mistake in assuming that you were mature enough and level-headed enough to get through this wedding with me. That you would stop, for one _fucking_ second, and consider that everyone else is affected by your words and actions.” He scolds, and Alex feels genuinely guilty. “You’re not the only one struggling, and you’re not the only one that doesn’t want to walk down the fucking aisle with their ex, but guess what, we don’t really have much of a choice do we?” He continues, speaking quicker as he becomes more and more wound up. “We knew what we were getting into then, and if you didn’t, then you’re truly a fool, Alexander. I don’t understand why you can’t just suck it up and get it over with like the rest of us can. I truly don’t.”

  
  


It’s quiet, eerily silent. The look on Henry’s face is both furious and expectant; he’s waiting for a rebuttal.

“I’m sorry.” Alex blurts dumbly, not sure of what else he could possibly say.

Henry’s jaw lurches forward, brows strung together tightly. “I beg your pardon?”

“I said,” He starts again, taking a deep breath and letting it out. “I’m sorry for talking about you like that. That was completely inexcusable of me, and I had absolutely no right to do so. You’re right, my words and actions affect the people around me, and I need to start acting more mature.”

More silence; it’s uncomfortable, completely and utterly suffocating. Henry’s just staring at him, face blank and not at all amused. He knows he didn’t say anything out of line— he owned up to his actions and apologized. There’s nothing more or less to it. 

“As much as I would like to believe you, I find myself unable to.” Henry mutters. He’s burning a hole in the floor with his gaze, and it makes a flurry of emotions run through Alex. “I’ll give it to you, that was quite the show you put on just then.” He chuckles, shaking his head as he stands and shoved his chair back into its original resting place.

Alex can’t believe his own ears. “I’m not—“

“Have a good night.” Henry replies, heading back to the bedroom, pace ridiculously quick.

Alex hears the soft click of the door shutting, and wants to scream until his lungs give out. 

But he doesn’t— he’s working on being more mature.

He turns the water on once again, picks up his sponge, and sets to work, scouring his plate.

He doesn’t know what the fuck he’s gotten himself into, but he thinks that he’ll do just just about anything to get himself out of it again.

He loads up the dishwasher, starts it, and slouches off to bed, hoping that he won’t get another earful as soon as he gets the door shut.

He doesn’t.


	4. Four

It’s officially a week before the big day, and goddamn, are they _busy._

  
  


June’s desperately attempting to break in her heels, doing frantic laps around the house with Nora and Daisy. They’re all typing away furiously— Alexander assumes that their answering last minute emails. His sister looks completely frazzled, wobbling around with her hair coming undone, teeth grinding in deep conversation. He could say the same for Nora and Daisy. He stands by what he said; Nora definitely should have been her Maid of Honor. 

Pez is keeping themself busy as well. They’re attempting to call everyone involved with the reception— the specialty bakery that’s working on their cake, the caterers, the venue— the list goes on for aeons. They’re also rewriting and finalizing their vows, which already seem to be short, sweet, and to the point. Not that Alex knows what on earth they’ve written down. 

What is he doing, one might ask? 

Writing the names on place cards.

Well, to be fair, Henry took half the stack to help him out. He doesn’t know if it’s his attempt at maturity, or if if Henry had an absolutely gargantuan stick removed from his ass overnight, but they've been on good terms today.

In fact, they’ve been friendly. Their day had started with Henry apologizing for ripping his head off, stating that he hadn’t deserved any of it, and that it had been emotionally building for quite some time. Alex was more than willing to forgive him, and put the row behind them. He didn’t pay it any mind when Henry kept him company in the kitchen, talking to him about all the tedious activities and events Mary had forced him to attend over the last half-year.

They may fight a lot, but they can agree on one thing; Mary Mountchristen-Windsor is one of the biggest bitches to ever roam Earth.

  
  


Henry’s already moved on from the place cards to take up a more adventurous task; he’s hot-gluing a paper banner to the front a medium-sized wooden crate.

  
  


“What even is that supposed to be?” Alex asks, failing miserably as he attempts to mimic his stupidly perfect cursive handwriting.

“It’s somewhere where people can drop their cards off at the reception, on the same table as the gifts, I think.” He mumbles, holding the banner to the crate in order to properly visualize what it’s going to look like glued down.

Alex hums in acknowledgement. “What’d you get them?” He asks, throwing out a card and grabbing another one; it had been ruined beyond salvaging.

“I commissioned an artist to create a map of the city of Los Angeles. A sort of tribute to June declaring that she wanted to stick her fingers in Pez’s mouth after hearing them sing Whitney Houston for the first time.”

Alex doesn’t think he’s snorted so hard in his entire life. “You’re a fucking genius, Fox.”

“You’ve made me aware of this fact many times before.” Henry replies, smooth. He picks up the glue gun, having given it quite a few minutes to warm up. “What did you get them?”

“Three Yankee candles and a hundred dollar bill slipped inside a card.”

Now Henry’s laughing. It’s not the fake, awkward one he does in interviews or when there’s press around— it’s his genuine, funny, beautiful laugh. Alex feels accomplished, filled with pride, knowing that he can still bring it out of him. 

“Are you _kidding?_ ” He asks between gasps for air, eyes watering as he clutches at his sides, glue gun on the very edge of the table. 

“What?” Alex asks, chuckling at just how hard Henry’s laughing at the moment. “I fail to see how truly comedic this is.”

Henry makes a soft _‘whew’_ noise, wiping at his eyes. “That’s something that I would expect from Oscar and Raf, maybe Leo. Alex, Pez is a _billionaire_. What use is three overpriced candles and a hundred dollars to them?”

  
  


“Oh shit, I didn’t even think of that.” Alex admits, and Henry is full-on cackling now, head tipped back as he wheezes. “Don’t laugh at my flop, Henry!” He exclaims, only joking. Sure, he’s embarrassed, but Henry’s ugly-laugh is truly a sight to behold.

“I’m sorry,” Henry replies, holding his hands out as he takes deep breaths, the occasional stray giggle finding its way past his lips. “Christ, okay, I’m good.” He breathes, smiling at Alex with wet eyes. “I’m sure they’ll love the candles.”

“I hope so,” Alex replies, going back to writing names on card stock. “They were thirty dollars a piece.”

“What a budget-breaking purchase.” Henry comments, holding up the banner for another visual representation.

“I’m in _college!_ ” He attempts to justify. 

“You’re in grad school.” Is the retort he receives.

“That’s _college!_ ”

“Yes, but you should be working already. Grad school is only to help you advance in your field.”

“I’ll have you know that I am on the campaign for a _very_ promising candidate who plans on representing New York’s eighth congressional district in the Senate, thank you.” Alex sniffs, turning up the melodrama just a bit.

“My apologies— ah, _fuck!_ ” Henry swears, sounding panicked and in quite a bit of pain.

Alex immediately looks up, alert. “What happened?”

“I grabbed the bloody— _ugh!_ ” He groans, left hand grabbing and holding the right. “I pressed my hand against the fucking metal applicator.” He gets out, and his pain is written all over his face. 

“Lemme see.” Alex says softly, all banter abandoned as he holds his hand out, taking his hand and peering down at it, making a negative noise as he grimaces. “Yeah, it’s already starting to blister. We gotta get this under some cold water.”

Henry nods, and they're off to the nearest bathroom. Alex turns on the faucet, and then grabs him by the wrist.

“This is gonna hurt at first, okay? It’s gonna hurt, but we’re only doin’ it for a couple of minutes.” He tells him, not lying to him or sugarcoating anything, but making sure he’s prepared.

Henry nods, gnawing on his bottom lip.

“I’m gonna stick it under on three, okay? One, two— there we go, you’re doing great.” Alex praises, rummaging through the medicine cabinet, looking for cotton balls, rubbing alcohol, and bandaids; trying to block out that god-awful noise of pain Henry had made.

He turns off the water after a few minutes, douses a cotton ball in rubbing alcohol, and holds out his hand for Henry’s, accepting it and immediately setting to work, rubbing in slow, gentle circles.

Henry groans at one point and jerks his hand away.

“Don’t do that, it could make it worse.” Alex scolds, grabbing it back to examine it. “Looks like we got all the glue off.” He comments, disposing of his used items before carefully placing a bandaid over his blister. “There we go, good as new.” He muses.

“Thanks.” Henry croaks, still sounding a bit pained.

“Want some ibuprofen?” He offers.

“Please.”

Alex shakes two pills out of the bottle for him, and tries not to cringe when he swallows them dry. 

Pez intercepts them on their way back up the hallway, holding two large black bags above their head.

“Come on, time for final fit and photos.” They say.

“Alex’s heart drops. “We’re doing photos _today?_ ”

Pez shakes their head. “Only for you two. You know, keeping appearances and all.”

He looks to Henry, who’s about seven shades greener than he was before.

  
  


He then looks back to Pez, glaring.

“Make it quick.”

It took him ages to get into the suit, and now he can’t stop staring at Henry. The two of them aren’t in anything special; it’s just black and white, unoriginal, yet timeless and sleek. Pez says something about a blue option for their ties, but doesn’t act on it. He’s absolutely transfixed— it’s like he can’t tear his eyes away. He doesn’t realize until their eyes meet that he’s not supposed to be looking in the first place.

“You, uhm,” He starts, diverting the attention to the hardwood floors. “You look good.” He compliments.

Henry smiles, looking anxious. “Thank you.” He replies, looking away once again. “You look good, too.”

“Alright, enough dilly-dallying!” Pez declares, barging in. “I want you two looking cute by the window. Good lighting there.” They explain, and Alex can feel dread settling in his stomach as he shuffles over, Henry following close behind.

“How are we supposed to pose for this?” Henry asks, sounding completely put-out. 

“Just kind of hold each other and smile, I guess.” Pez suggests. “You’ll figure it out.“

So, they do as instructed.

It feels natural to Alex, feels good. Like he should be doing this when the cameras are off. 

  
  


It also feels awful and disturbing and gross because Henry’s smile is fake and he’s shaking like a leaf. He can’t see it, but he can certainly feel it. 

“These are beautiful,” Pez comments after a couple of different poses. “I’ll send one to each of you and tag you in a third one.”

“Sounds good.” Alex says, voice strained.

They both undress, and Pez leaves with their suits. 

Henry exits the room wordlessly after redressing, and Alexander immediately knows that something’s wrong. He follows behind by at least two paces, not trying to be intrusive. 

He watches as Henry suddenly takes off, not running, but walking swiftly and with purpose.

  
  


He sees him take off out the front door and, on an impulse, grabs his keys, and takes off after him.

He’s at a dead stop at the end of the driveway, obviously panicking, when Alex grabs him by the wrist.

“Come with me,” He orders, voice soft and as soothing as possible. “We’re gonna get outta here for a while.”


	5. Five

“I’m not getting in a damn car with you, Alex.”

  
  


“I wasn’t fucking asking.” Alex replies, honestly in no mood for the shenanigans and bullshit right now. “You need to get out of here, so we’re leaving. Get in the car.”

Henry makes zero effort to move, his feet firmly planted on the ground with his arms wrapped around himself. 

“ _Henry._ ” Alex says, grip on his wrist not wavering.

Henry yanks his wrist out of his grasp, walking towards Alexander’s vehicle, opening the door when it’s unlocked, stepping in, and shutting it with far too much force.

Alex can already tell that this car ride is going to take a dramatically negative turn. He traipses over to the car and climbing in on the driver’s side. He pulls out of the driveway, starting down the winding path, shadows overcast by the trees lining it. 

Henry is dead silent and staring straight ahead, silently seething in his seat as they turn down the next two roads. Is he really that angry about having to take photos with Alex? Did that really ruin every last bit of progress that they’ve made today, taking a set of photos now instead of right before the wedding? He genuinely doesn’t understand it— this was inevitable, and they both knew that.

“Am I really so bad that a fucking _photo op_ with me ruined your day?” He asks, knowing that he’s acting childish, but honestly too wound up already to give two damns about it.

“Of course you would make this all about you.” Henry scoffs, moving his attention to the window as he watches trees and grass whoosh past them. 

“Well, I honestly don’t see who else it could be about!” He exclaims, rounding the next corner with a little too much force. “You were _just fine_ before, and now you’re not.”

“Are you actually this _fucking_ thick, or are you just choosing to leave your brain turned off today?” Henry snips, and it makes ice shoot through Alexander’s veins.

“You can cut that out right now, or I’ll stop this car, kick you out, and you can find your silly ass home on your own.” He threatens, and they both know it’s nothing but hot air, but it doesn’t stop Henry from glaring at him, gaze as striking and paralyzing as lightning. 

“I genuinely cannot believe you right now,” Henry fumes, having shifted in his seat to face him directly. “Are you not absolutely _enraged_ that we have to keep doing this shit? Are you not bloody _uncomfortable_?” He asks, anger extremely obvious, hands thrown up in the air. 

Alex wants to shout that no, he wasn’t uncomfortable. He wasn’t uncomfortable at all, with Henry’s hands on his waist and their foreheads pressed together. He was a myriad of strange, confusing, guilt-inducing things, but none of them were uncomfortable.

“They were fucking _pictures_ , Henry.” He spits. “They didn’t mean anything. If you didn’t want to be around me or be exposed to this type of shit, then you shouldn’t have even _come_.” He blurts, speaking his mind loud and clear.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Then _beg!_ ” He quips a bit too loudly in return, making Henry jump and immediately regretting it. “You heard what I said; why are you even here if you’re having trouble fulfilling the agreement we made as soon as we called things off? Why the hell are you _here?_ ” He demands to know, backing off the gas when he realizes just how fast he’s going.

“Because I _have_ to be, you selfish _arse!_ ” Henry shouts in return, looking at Alexander like it’s the most obvious thing in the entire galaxy. “This is my best friend’s wedding, and we aren’t separated in the eyes of the public. God, it’s like none of them have basic fucking comprehension skills. You moving to a different location entirely to ‘ _be closer to work and classes’_ and ‘ _coming back to the brownstone on the weekends_ ’ is the biggest load of shit I have ever heard.” He scoffs, shaking his head and digging the heels of his hands into his eyes. 

  
  


“Well, why don’t we just come out with it, then? Let’s just tell the whole fucking world that we can’t stand being in the same room as each other and that we broke up half a year ago? Let’s just do it as soon as this is all over, and then we’ll never have to see each other again.” Alex hisses, skin boiling and eyes watering. This is the very last thing that he wants to do. There’s this chunk of him— this piece that’s far too big to ignore. He feels for Henry, and doesn’t think that he’s ever really stopped. Half the time they’ve been apart, he’s dreamt of him. He’s kept himself occupied, registered every emotion towards him as annoyance and anger, but he just can’t deny it anymore, screaming at him while speeding town a twisting back road. 

He loves Henry.

He loves him, he loves him, he loves him.

And he feels like this realization might be the final blow for him.

“We can’t fucking do that, and you _know_ that!” Henry screams, his voice wavering in a way that makes Alex feel shameful. “This wedding is never going to end for us.” He explains, sounding more and more overwhelmed. “People are going to start assuming things. They're going to start getting ideas. We never get to stop. One day, that’s going to be us.” He says, breath shuddering.

_Oh._

  
  


Alex hadn’t thought about that.

Henry’s one hundred percent correct. For the sake of their families and community, they will never be able to truly stop _‘dating’_. This is forever, whether they both like it or not.

Fuck.

“Are you really that worried about it?” Alex asks. “Is the thought of being with me, even for the better good, really that disgusting to you?”

Henry lets out a frustrated, sort of blood-curdling shriek. 

“Why do you keep making everything about _you?_ ” Henry asks. “You hate me, remember? Not the other way around. _God_ , if I knew that two years down the line I would be dealing with all of this, I would have avoided you like the plague! I can’t bloody get away from you!”

His heart shatters, and his flaring temper speaks before his brain can find some way to de-escalate the situation. 

“If I’d stayed true to my guts, I think we’d have both been better off! I was right about you on day _fucking one!_ ” He screams, only realizing what’s flown out of his mouth right after he gets the last word out. His head and heart are pounding, and everything feels so horribly wrong.

Emotions shifting and mind still racing, he makes a near immediate attempt at apologizing.

“That was completely out of line for me to say, and I am so sorry.” He says, hands shaking as he grips the steering wheel. 

“Don’t,” Henry whimpers. Alex looks over at him; his face is going red and bottom lip wobbling dangerously, tears in his eyes threatening to start streaming down his face. God, what has he _done?_ “Just _don’t_.”

Alex finds the nearest patch of grass off to the side of the road, and pulls over. There’s pressure in his chest, and his skin is crawling and buzzing. He finds himself looking at Henry again. 

It’s devastating, how composed he tries to be. His face is neutral, and he appears to be biting at the inside of his lips. The throbbing scarlet that had once existed has now subsided to a dewy pink, and had he not been touching away his own tears with his fingertips, Alexander might have assumed that he wasn’t even crying at all. 

Tentatively, he reaches over, cupping his face and wiping away stray tears with his thumb. He knows that if he were in the right mindset, Henry might have cursed at him, or pinched his hand away. Now, he leans into it, allowing himself to cry freely in Alexander’s hold. It’s silent, his shoulders shaking. 

Alex is comforted by it, oddly enough. The weight and softness there is not unknown. It’s just enough— he would hate himself for not attempting to comfort someone he cares so deeply about, but he doesn’t want to think about the tears that would be shed if he had chosen to embrace him instead.

“I’m sorry,” He croaks, his own voice betraying him. “I am so, _so_ sorry, Henry.”

“I hate you.” Henry whispers against Alex’s wrist, and he pretends that it doesn’t completely break him.

“I know.” Alex admits, holding back his emotions, knowing that it’s Henry’s turn to say what he needs to say.

He shakes his head, holding Alexander’s hand to his cheek. “I don’t actually hate you,” He amends, tears flowing faster. “I don’t hate you at all. I just— God, what _happened_ to us? What’s _wrong_ with us?” He sobs.

“I don’t know.” Alex replies, completely honest. “I think that we’re both hurting right now. A lot.” 

He finds Henry’s head on his shoulder, and instantly starts combing his fingers through his hair, the color equal to that of spun gold. It’s just as soft as he remembers it, perhaps a bit fluffier without its usual pomade. His shirt is crumpled and clenched his ex-lover’s fists, knuckles white and hands shaking. It’s then that he situated himself in order to embrace him properly, arms wrapped around his midsection. Steady. Grounding.

Alex has never been amazing at comforting people; he’s been told all his life to suck it up and save face. He feels like he knows exactly what to do here, though. A little squeezing, a little rocking, mumbling the words to _Your Song_ by Elton John into Henry’s hair. He listens to his sobs and noises of anguish, takes them all in, and internalizes them. 

It’s not until he actually starts to process them that he starts to cry himself. He’s been terrible to Henry. Absolutely horrible to him. He’s not even thinking back to the end of their relationship, to the fight that toed that final line. Just reflecting on the way he’s treated him this past week has forced him to come to this conclusion.

  
  


He doesn’t realize how loudly he’s bawling until Henry’s shushing him and rubbing his back. 

“It’s okay,” Henry coos, his voice still sounding heavy and pained. “It’s alright, I’ve got you. You’re okay.”

  
  


Alexander clings to him, believing every word.


	6. Six

He can’t measure the time they spent like that, just holding each other and weeping. It’s always uncomfortable for him, seeing Henry upset or in pain. It was so much worse this time. To see him crying so hard, looking so agonized, and to know that he was the source of it— he doesn’t even know what to do with himself, really.

Alexander, like he has for most of their separation, finds himself caught between two drastically different emotions, a sort of mental motion sickness. As of right now, those emotions happen to be love and regret. Henry has been holding onto his heart this whole time. He _squeezes_ and _squeezes_ and _squeezes_ it, leaving it tender and sore and an oozing, bleeding mess; he supposes now that he’s deserved it. He was a lousy lover nearing the end, so wrapped up in his own stupid little world and his future that he grew bitter and neglectful. He can see why he left, it’s clear as crystal. He fluctuates between his pain and anger, meaning every bit of it when times are especially hard, and this intense, overwhelming desire to beg for forgiveness, to repent for his wrongdoings— to make things right again. 

He thinks the odds of actually being forgiven are about the same as catching lightning in a bottle.

Eventually, they disentangle themselves from one another, and just allow the silence to wash over them. It’s not a devastating, heart-wrenching silence; it’s calm. Cathartic, even. Good.

Alex pulls back onto the road, continuing to drive around to fill the time. Neither of them want to go home, he knows that much. Nobody needs to see them all red-eyed with tear tracks on their puffy, splotchy faces. They would never hear the end of it. 

“I think that old therapist you used to go to would be proud of us.” He eventually says, the trees becoming more and more scarce as they move along. “She’d tell us that we’re making a breakthrough, some shit like that.” He scoffs, feeling his heart swell affectionately at Henry’s huff of laughter. “What was her name, again?” He asks— he’d only started seeing someone right before they separated.

“Doctor Kapoor.” Henry offers up, shaking his head as he chuckles, the occasional sniffle still making itself known. “I still see her regularly. She’s quite the character.” He explains. 

“How so?” Alex asks, glad that they’re back to talking, that Henry is sharing personal information with him— that he’s got one of his hands wrapped around his forearm. It gives him hope that what he feels isn't absolute insanity. 

This sparks the beginning of a wonderful diatribe about Henry’s therapist and what he goes over in therapy. He tells Alex about the last six months, and how they’ve been some of the most difficult and formative in his whole entire life. 

Guilt nags and gnaws at Alexander’s insides. 

“So, it’s been going well?” He asks, trying to sum up everything he’s been told. “You’re liking therapy, and it’s actually helping you out?”

Henry snorts. “Yes, it’s been going very well.” He replies, nodding. 

“And you’ve been taking your meds?” Alex probes further, and one of Henry’s brows arches oh-so elegantly.

“I didn’t realize that you were my caretaker, Diaz.”

“Henry,” He says, taking on a solemn tone, easing up on the gas a bit, driving at a leisurely pace. “I’m not trying to be your caretaker. I just care about you. I’ve been the world’s absolute _worst_ at showing it, there’s no doubting that, but I do.” He admits, taking a deep breath before continuing onward. “I honestly feel like such a dick for not checking in with you about this. I know how hard it is for you, or at least how it was when we lived together.”

It’s quiet. He feels the hand on his forearm give a gentle squeeze; a gesture meant to be comforting. 

“Alex, I need you to realize that it’s not your responsibility to make sure I’m taking my medication, okay?” Henry speaks up, his voice soft and earnest, a complete shift from previous shrieking and wailing. “That is not your responsibility at all. I am grown, and I am capable of doing what medical professionals ask of me. God, love, I had no idea that you were so worried about that.” He admits, slipping up and lapsing into using a pet name that used to be comfortable. 

  
  


There are no words in the English language to describe how it makes Alexander feel. He settles on weird. Weird, comfortable, and good. Maybe too good, considering the circumstances of their current relationship. 

It hits Henry a few moments later— Alex can tell because he’s starting to go red again. 

“I’m sorry,” He starts, using his free hand to prop up his head in order to look out the window; he’s trying his hardest to avoid Alexander’s gaze at the moment. “Force of habit, I suppose it was.”

“Don’t worry about it, common slip up.” Alex replies amiably, not wanting to make him feel guilty; he can already see scarlet creeping up his neck. 

“Enough about me,” Henry decides, apparently done letting the embarrassment take over their conversation. “How have you been? Still liking law school?”

Alex has to laugh at this, shaking his head back and forth. 

“What?” Henry asks, looking perplexed.

“I _really_ don’t like it.” He admits. “Law school is horrible. I kept telling myself that once I got past the hard stuff that I would be fine, but it’s just— I don’t know. I still definitely want to be a lawyer, but goddamn.” He breathes. “I don’t think I have the vocabulary to articulate my true distaste for it.”

“Well,” Henry starts, obviously a bit shocked and put off by this answer. “I wish I had known that when were together, honestly. That would have saved us a lot of internal problems, I think.”

“So do I.” Alex grimaces.

“I’m proud of you for sticking with what you’re passionate about.” Henry starts, pushing past all this new information that puts a slight shift in their ultimate downfall. “You want to help people, even though the schooling makes you absolutely miserable, and that’s amazing, at least in my eyes. Not that they count.” He snorts, feeling a bit awkward. “My point is that you are _brilliant_ and _young_ and you have a wonderful heart. There’s no stopping someone like you— you have the world in the palm of your hand, and you are going to change lives someday. Hell, you’ve changed my own in ways I still don’t understand.” He continues, trying to speed it up, feeling as if he’s rambling. “You’re going into your last year, just hang in there. You’ll be okay.”

  
  


Alex feels as if he might die when the hand wrapped around his arm slips down into his own hand, skin and bone held together in a loose yet meaningful bond.

“Thank you,” He sighs. “I really needed that.”

“I know, love.” Henry sighs, his thumb rubbing small circles on the back of Alex’s hand. “I know that you did.”

Alexander suspects that time wasn’t so accidental. 

He doesn’t mind at all.

It’s already time for dinner, by the time they get back to the lake house. Nobody looks particularly angry that they were gone for so long, but everyone is definitely giving the two of them weird looks. The one that Oscar’s dishing out makes Henry duck his head in embarrassment. 

Alex pulls him into the kitchen before anyone can scold them. 

Dinner still remains for both of them— his dad made blue corn pellizcadas. They’re topped with salsa and queso fresco. There’s also cilantro lime rice. 

“How hungry are you?” Alex asks, moving over to where the clean plates have been stacked up. 

“Only a little.” Henry says, pouring water into glasses from the filter in the refrigerator. 

“When’s the last time you ate today?” He continues to question, perhaps trying to make a point. 

“I had toast for breakfast.” Henry admits, sounding extremely sheepish. 

“Mhm, thought so.” Alex comments, no conviction in his voice as he piles Henry’s plate up, not going overboard; they dated for two years, he knows what he can and can’t handle. 

They stand there in the kitchen, eating and chatting. Henry’s getting a little messy, and apologizing for it. Alex thinks it’s endearing— he’s only like this when it’s Oscar’s cooking. 

“I have a confession to make.” Henry admits, taking a long sip of water, followed by a huge scoop of rice.

Alex chuckles, trying his best not to make a mess out of a pellizcada. “What would that be?”

“I didn’t come here for the wedding. I didn’t come for anyone— I came for your dad’s food.” He jokes, leaning lazily against the countertop, cleaning the tips of his fingers with a paper napkin.

Alex gasps dramatically. “How scandalous. Only coming to my sister’s wedding for my father’s home cooked meals. I have half a mind to kick you out.”

Henry giggles, shaking his head. “I don’t know what it is about his food, but he knows what he’s doing.” He praises, putting his nearly empty plate off to the side, full. “Really though, I came for everybody.”

Alex sees the risk, and he fucking takes it.

“Even me?” He asks. 

Henry doesn’t answer, staring down at his shoes. 

Alex tilts his chin up with two fingers. Another risk that isn’t calculated. 

“Even me?” He doubles down. 

Henry’s cheeks are rosy and flushed.

“Don’t let it go to your head, Diaz.” He grumbles, and Alex laughs, leaving at that. They’ve been good with each other after their fight earlier. It would be unwise of him to do much more.

It’s later in the evening, around eleven o’clock, when they both decide to settle in for the evening. Alex has made the shift from jeans to sweats. Henry changes into actual pajamas. 

There’s a comfortable silence between the two of them, standing beside one another in the mirror, Henry washing his face while Alex brushes his teeth. 

“Lemme take a look at that burn.” He finds himself asking after they finish up, reaching for Henry’s hand. He removes the bandaid as carefully as possible. It looks painful, sure, but it’s not infected, so he celebrates it as a win.

“Does it look okay?” Henry asks, seeming a bit squeamish at the sight of it.

“It looks great, but we’ll keep an eye on it. Maybe we’ll let it air out tomorrow.” Alex proposes.

Henry nods. “Whatever you see fit.” He replies, putting trust in him to do what’s best. 

Alex puts a generous amount of Neosporin on the burn, before covering it with a fresh bandage. 

“I’ll take another look at it in the morning.” He promises. 

“Sounds good.” Henry says, trying to mask a yawn. 

He raises his brows at Alex, who’s migrated from the restroom to the bottom bunk— his bunk. 

“What’re you doing?” He asks, only vaguely understanding what this is about.

“Henry, don’t play dumb with me. You’ve been having trouble sleeping again.”

This, in fact, is true. Henry has been having trouble sleeping. Alex has been keeping track of how he sighs and tosses and turns, how he obsessively checks the time on his phone and gets up to walk around. It used to happen on occasion when they were seeing each other; Henry’s anxiety would flare up and he would get restless. It’s been bad since the first day here. 

“I know.” Henry breathes, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It’s been rough.” He admits, and Alex feels a pang in his chest. He needs to do something about it. He needs to, he needs to, he needs to. 

“C’mere.” Alex mumbles, sliding back against the wall and pulling the sheets back, patting the vast, empty space that remains.

“This isn’t going to be weird for you?” He asks, double-checking.

“Only if it’s weird for you.”

“It isn’t, oddly enough.”

Then c’mere, Henry.”

There’s a dip in the bed, and then they’re both just laying there, inches between them, quilted duvet up to their necks. Henry’s wide-eyed and silent, like he’s shocked that this is actually happening. Alex can only imagine how similar his own expression is.

He’s the one to cross that road, to scoot closer. 

“Let me know if you’re uncomfortable.” He whispers, wrapping an arm around Henry’s midsection.

“The same goes for you.” Henry replies, moving closer, their bodies pressed together.

It’s familiar in the best possible way, although it leaves Alexander with trembling hands and a racing heartbeat. Their limbs are all entangled, and Henry reminds him of stepping inside a crowded room after being in the horrible winter winds of Brooklyn, the kind that freezes your lips and leaves your hair messy and cheeks ruddy. 

Henry reminds him of warmth.

Henry reminds him of times that he desperately wants to go back to. 

Henry smells like fresh linens and Earl Grey and everything pleasant and good that this world has to offer. 

God, he’s got it _bad._

He’s not sure when he falls asleep, but it’s peaceful and sudden, and it’s the most comfortable he’s been in quite a long time.


	7. Seven

Sharing the bottom bunk is not a one-time event for Henry and Alexander. 

  
  


In fact, it happens two days in a row after the first instance. Alex finds himself absolutely fascinated with the way Henry’s spine curves when he’s holding him from behind; he could stare at it all day and trace it from memory with his eyes closed. 

They’ve abandoned all shyness with one another, falling back into patterns that they didn’t even realize they’d fallen out of. Henry’s alarm goes off first, and he walks over to the dressers and closet, grabbing clothes for them both, setting Alex’s at the foot of the bed. He showers first, letting Alexander have his much-needed time to wake up. 

He steps out, fresh-faced and fully-dressed with damp, combed hair. 

Alex is staring at him, half awake, eyes glassy as he drools onto the pillow. Perhaps he’s been sleeping a bit too well over the past couple of days. 

“Good morning.” Henry says, though it comes out as question more than it does a greeting. 

Alex blinks himself fully awake, giving a grunt of acknowledgement as he sits up, wiping saliva from the corner of his mouth as he does so.

“I suppose you slept well?” Henry asks fondly, walking up to him and fixing his hair— another old habit that they aren’t speaking about. 

“Mhm.” He hums in response, shutting his eyes and letting him does as he pleases. He still doesn’t know how far is too far; he doesn’t even know how Henry sees him at this point. 

“Still tired?”

“A little.”

“I thought so. We have to get up, unfortunately. Have to communicate and socialize with the rest of the household.” Henry reminds him, patting his cheek. 

“Ugh.” He groans, flopping back against the pillows, cringing when he cheek rubs against the wet spot his parted mouth had left. 

“Come, now. I grabbed comfortable clothes for you.” Henry persuades. “You can even rest on the couch, if you’d like to.” He adds on, and Alex pulls himself up, bones weary and brittle.

  
  


He accepts the clothes that are handed to him, pulling them on slowly, trying to push past brain fog and ignore gentle touches and sweet coddling. 

“Where do you get all your fuckin’ _energy_ from?” He asks, pulling on a pair of socks, biting back a yawn. 

“I don’t know.” Henry admits, pulling back the curtains, letting in fresh sunlight. “I guess it’s the weather. Not supposed to be too hot or too cold. Sunny.” He sighs. “Took my Prozac too, so that’s probably doing its little bit in helping.”

Alex laughs, tired, yet feeling invigorated by Henry’s presence. He wonders how he ever felt put out by him a week ago. He chalks it up to what June would call a lack of emotional vocabulary. 

They walk— well, Henry walks while Alex trudges— to the kitchen side by side. It’s quiet, but the occasional brushing of fingertips makes up for the lack of conversation. 

On autopilot, Alex immediately starts measuring out pancake batter and slicing up apples. 

  
  


“We got any cinnamon, babe?” He asks.

“Let me check.” Henry replies, taking a break from fiddling with the coffee maker to look through the cabinets. “Here.” He eventually says, handing Alex a bottle of the sweet spice.

“Thanks.” He replies, sprinkling the cinnamon and folding bite-sized chunks of apple into the batter. “I thought you didn’t like coffee.”

“I don’t.” Henry replies, grabbing the cinnamon from his work station. 

Alex finds this odd, but ignores it, focusing on making an immaculate, towering stack of pancakes. 

He’s jolted out of deep concentration when Henry slides a mug of coffee across the counter to him. He smiles, taking a sip of it. It’s little things like this that manage to make him happy and hopeless all at once. If only they could go back and undo all the pain and wronging that they’ve brought each other. 

“You didn’t have to.” He insists, hiding behind his cup. 

“I wanted to.” Henry replies, and Alex can tell that he’s being honest. 

“You want a couple?” He asks, gesturing to his tower of hard work.

“Sure, don’t tell Bea I’m eating American pancakes though,” Henry chuckles. “She’ll lose her bloody mind.”

“I’ll shoot her a text within the hour.” Alex replies, and he watches Henry laugh, gorgeous and unfiltered, head tipped back with arms wound around his midsection. It’s not the shocking cackle from three days ago, but it’s true. Unguarded.

If Alex had truly lost his mind, he supposes that he might have kissed him right about then.

But he is sane, and he is reasonable, so he puts two pancakes on a clean plate for Henry instead.

“Want anything on them?” He asks.

“No, thank you.” Henry replies.

“Weirdo.” He teases, and Henry rolls his eyes.

“I’m sure hundreds would say the same about you.”

“What do you mean?” He asks, brow raised. “I’m _overflowing_ with charisma.”

“Mhm.” Henry replies, and Alex doesn’t miss the sass there. 

Talking to him is always easier when there are no distractions. No other fiascos or people or thoughts dictating what they say and do. Banter flows between the two of them naturally as they eat together, and today’s Henry is the polar opposite of the Henry that showed up on day one. The one from before was quiet and reserved; fear and anger his just behind his eyes. This one, this _beautiful_ man, leaves him laughing and breathless, swimming helplessly through endless seas of wonder. 

It’s night and day. 

  
  


As the others wake up to the pleasant smell of breakfast, Henry leaves the kitchen.

Alex realizes that he called him babe earlier, and his heart drops into his stomach. 

Throughout the day, they put distance between each other. They don’t need any suspicions or rumors flying at them. Still, Henry is always there when he least expects it, in a smile across the room or a lingering touch when they both happen to be in the hallway. It makes his pulse race, no matter the circumstance. 

He’s in the kitchen with Oscar, preparing their big barbecue meal for this extended trip. They’ve made some changes to their dry-rub recipe in the past few years— Raf turned his dad on to a new recipe, apparently; brown sugar and Chinese five-spice powder with a little bit of Kosher salt. 

Alex is practically massaging this mixture into the pork ribs, when Oscar starts striking up a conversation.

“What’d you do to that poor boy?” He asks, smiling as he makes the sauce to smother the ribs in; hoisin and soy sauce, honey, and more five-spice powder. 

  
  


“I don’t really know what you’re talking about.” Alex admits, adding more seasoning, ignoring the look that he knows he’s receiving. 

“You’ve pulled him back under your little spell, mijo. Went from glaring at you when you entered a room to watching you leave with sad little doe eyes.” Oscar teases, and Alex lets out a huffy laugh. 

“I really doubt that, but hey, thanks for boosting my confidence.” He replies, shaking his head and smiling. 

“Vato, do you really _not_ see it? That boy looks at you like you’re the reason he gets up in the morning.”

“He really doesn’t.” Alex denies, the conversation suddenly taking an uncomfortable turn. 

“Are you saying that because you genuinely believe it, or are you just afraid to say that you still have feelings for him?” Oscar probes deeper, clapping him on the back. “Look at him, and then answer me.”

Alex obeys his order, looking through the clear screen door. 

Henry is sat on the edge of the pier, watching Nora and June play chicken, June on Pez’s shoulders, and Nora sat on Daisy’s. There’s a struggle, and Nora falls down into the water, June pumping her fists in the air and screaming out in victory. Henry is sunburnt and shirtless, laughing and clapping his hands; beautiful and carefree.

Alex feels heat flood his face, and looks down again.

  
  


“I thought so.” Oscar comments.

“Shut up, Dad.”

“You’re only telling me to shut up because I’m _right._ ” 

“Yeah, maybe you are!” Alex exclaims, groaning as he moves over to the sink to wash his hands. “Fuck, I mean, what am I supposed to do about it?”

  
  


“Well, do what you did last time you realized you were in love with him. That seemed to work.”

An idea pops into his mind as he dries his hands.

“That’s probably the best advice you’ve ever given me.” He half-jokes, wiping them on the hand towel.

“Not here for nothin’ kid.” Oscar reminds him, smirking. “Go have fun, I’ll take it from here.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

  
  


“Anytime.”

With a hug, and a cold Shiner from the fridge, he’s running out to the pier to join in all the late-summer madness. 

Dinner is delicious, as was expected. Afterwards, drinks were shared on the porch as music blared through the speakers. June was tipsy, singing every line of Heart’s _Alone_ with as much feeling as she could muster. After a few more drinks Nora and Pez joined in for Flashdance’s _What A Feeling_.

They were so off their asses drunk, that they didn’t even notice Alex and Henry cozied up on the porch swing, Alexander’s arm around his waistline, Henry’s head on his shoulder, his eyes shut. Neither of them have had any alcohol, not since Alex’s mid-afternoon Shiner, and their own quiet little moment seems to cut through all the noise, cherished and intimate. 

It’s one fifty-eight in the morning, and they’re both in bed, when Alex decides to act on his idea.

“Henry?” He asks, voice barely audible. “Henry, are you awake?”

He’s debating on shaking his shoulder, when he flips around to face Alex.

“I am now,” He says groggily, yawning. “What’s wrong, is everything okay?” He questions.

“Everything’s fine.” Alex starts, watching Henry’s face and body language soften. “I, uhm—“ He stumbles over his words, still nervous to ask this of him.

“Yes?” Henry asks, patient and listening, seeming to hang on every word. 

“Do you wanna come down to the pier with me?” Alex asks. “It’s cool if you don’t want to— I just thought maybe we could talk about stuff where nobody might overhear us.”

It registers on Henry’s face within a microsecond.

“Of course,” He replies, and Alex lets out a silent sigh of relief as they change out of their sleepwear and into comfortable summer clothing. “Let’s head out.”


	8. Eight

“So, what is it that you want to talk about?” Henry asks, staring up at the stars as he and Alex sit beside each other on the pier. There’s moonlight in his hair, and stars in his eyes.

  
  


God, Alex is so in love that it physically _hurts_. 

“Well,” He starts, trying to ignore the way Henry’s thigh brushes against his own, warm wind whooshing past his ears, making leaves on nearby trees rustle. “I was wondering if we could talk about the breakup. I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately, and I feel like we’ve finally reached a mature point in our relationship where we can finally have a conversation about it.”

“I’m glad that you feel that way.” Henry admits, looking to him. He wants to kiss the smile off of his lips. “I’ve been wanting to talk about it, too.” He continues. “You go first.”

Alex sighs, tips of his toes skimming the water’s surface. 

“I realize now that I had been neglecting your needs to pursue something that I didn’t even like.” He confesses. “I wasn’t making any effort in our relationship, and then got mad when you expressed this to me. I only cared about myself, and was being extremely selfish. I want to apologize for that. I don’t think that I could do it enough, really.” He apologizes.

“I accept your apology.” Henry replies, grabbing his bandaged hand in one of Alexander’s. “It wasn’t all your fault, though. I was picking up and fucking off to London for months at a time. You were lonely. You kept telling me this, and I kept shrugging it off. You were right to be angry with me, and I was right to be angry with you. We were both at fault.” He reminds Alex.

“God, do you remember that last fight?” Alex asks, scoffing. It still hurts to think about it— perhaps now more than it had at the time.

“I do, unfortunately.” Henry responds, leaning on him. “I don’t think I had ever truly screamed at anyone before that night.”

“We were emotional and relentless.” Alex recalls.

  
  


“We were.”

“We chased each other around the house and just _screamed_ at each other.”

“I was throwing clothes at you and telling you to get out of the house.”

“I called you horrible things.” Alex grimaces, disgusted with himself. 

“I did that as well.” Henry whispers.

They’re both quiet for many minutes. Henry moves his head to the crook of Alexander’s neck, breathing deeply. Alex feels like he might throw up. It’s always so much worse in his memory than it felt in the moment. 

“I would’ve done it all again in a heartbeat.” Henry mumbles, breath fanning out against his neck. 

“Why would you subject yourself to such a shitty relationship a second time?” He finds himself asking.

“Because it wasn’t shitty until the very end. You loved me, and I loved you. It was you and me against the universe.”

“Making history,” Alex breathes.

“Making history.” Henry confirms. “I think I would give just about anything to be young and dumb again.”

“Why’s that?” 

“I think I was happiest back then.” Henry comments, and well, Alex just doesn’t know what to say about that.

“I think I might’ve been happier then, too.” He eventually settles on, and Henry chuckles quietly.

“I’m glad that I’m not alone in that aspect.” He replies, and Alex laughs too, melancholic and sweet.

They let the night speak for them, all rippling water and chirping crickets and swaying breezes. It’s a beautiful night, the moon just an awkward, stunning sliver of light amongst millions upon billions of stars.

“I like this.” Alex says, not really thinking clearly anymore.

“What do you like?” Henry asks.

“Being close to you,” Alex supplies. “Talking to you again. Holding your hand. It’s— I don’t know.” He rambles, voice fading away as he looses confidence.

“I know.” Henry replies, disentangling their hands and moving his to rest over Alexander’s thigh. “I like it quite a bit myself.”

Alex’s heart is beating like a steel drum, and his throat is very, very dry. 

He lets Henry touch him however he likes, finds himself surprised that his hand doesn’t stray to far, just sliding up and down his thigh in a soothing motion. It’s peculiar to him, how he never quite realized how he’s longed for casual touch since they called it off. 

“Would you be opposed to going back inside?” Henry asks, slipping his hand in the narrow space that separates Alexander’s legs. “It’s getting late.”

He doesn’t need to be given instructions twice.

“Not at all.” He replies.

When they make it back to their room, Henry descends upon him like predator on prey, kissing him like a mad man.

Alex feels like he could conquer the world, and kisses him back with feverish passion. It feels like coming home after being gone for an absurdly long time, like he’s just learned every secret that the universe has to offer. 

“Did you bring lube?” He asks between kisses as Henry pulls his shirt over his head.

“Why are you asking that _now_ , when I could have your dick in my mouth?” He questions, letting Alex do the same to him.

“Because I don’t want to forget about it and have to find it when you’re all spread out and pretty. It’s rude to keep company waiting, you know.”

  
  


“I’m aware.” Henry sighs, pulling it out of one of the side pockets of his suitcase, and setting it on the nightstand. “Now that we’ve got that out of the way,” He starts, never finishing as he sinks to his knees, yanking Alexander’s shorts and boxers down, his hard cock springing free.

He looks down at Henry, and sees deceitfully innocent blue eyes looking back up at him as he presses sloppy, open-mouthed kisses to the head of his cock. It makes him groan, head tipping back against the wall. 

Henry’s wicked, perfect tongue teases the underside of his dick, licking up in one slow, agonizing motion before flicking against the tip. He’s always had a passion for making Alex weak and vulnerable. He takes the head into his mouth, bobbing up and own. It’s sloppy, but definitely not unskilled. 

Between the noises, his tongue, and the hand caressing his balls, Alex has to pull him off by his hair, doing so gently. 

“Is something wrong?” Henry croaks, voice nearly gone already.

“I’d rather fuck you than finish now,” He replies. “Get up here.” He says, pulling Henry up from the ground and into a lip-bruising kiss. 

It takes a moment or two, but he has him face-up on the bed, legs spread as he coats his own fingers in lubricant.

“You can touch yourself, baby.” He encourages, watching idly as Henry takes his cock into his hand, stroking himself. He listens to his sighs and whines, and feels everything pull tight inside him. 

He slips a finger past his entrance, and the moan that leaves Henry’s mouth is truly something. He sets a slow pace— he doesn’t want this to be painful or rushed. He wants to take his time with Henry, his thrusts matching speed with his strokes.

“More,” Henry moans, neck and face pink and dewy. “Please, love, _more_.” He begs, and who would Alex be to deny someone so breathtaking what he wants?

Henry’s really moaning with the second finger, so much so that it becomes a concern.

“We’re gonna get caught.” Alex warns.

“It’s not anything they haven’t already read.” Henry jokes in response. It makes Alex laugh, leaning in to kiss him.

They kiss until their lips are numb, until it’s less like kissing and more just smushing their mouths together. It’s both too much and not nearly enough. 

“I’m close,” Henry rasps some time after a third finger is added, grinding down onto Alexander’s hand.

“Stop touching yourself.” Alex replies, shushing Henry as he whines pitifully at the instruction and loss of fingers. 

“ _Please_ , fuck me.” Henry pleads, the very definition of desperation in this moment.

“Be patient,” Alex soothes, a hand trailing over Henry’s abdomen as he coats his own cock in lube, giving it a few pulls. “How do you want me to fuck you?”

“Just like this.” Henry breathes, wrapping his legs around Alex’s waist and pulling him close. 

Alex looks at him, and sees such tenderness in his eyes, such sweetness there. He leans down and kisses him, loving the way Henry pulls his hair, telling him to get on with it already. 

Holding his hips, he lines up with his entrance, and pushes in, both of them groaning at the feeling. He waits, giving Henry time to adjust, knowing that if he’s gone as long as Alex has without more intimate relations, that he’ll need it.

“Keep going.” Henry demands, nails digging into Alex’s upper back.

“Are you sure?” Alex double-checks, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth, not wanting to hurt him. 

“I’m not made of _glass_ , Diaz.” Henry reminds him.

“I know,” Alexander replies. “I just want to take my time with you.”

Henry hums, pecking him on the lips. “I think you’ve taken quite enough time so far.”

“So impatient.”

“Alas, I admit it.” Henry says, giggles turning into moans as Alex starts up again, hips shifting up, gentle and slow. 

  
  


They make love to each other, all tangled limbs and sweet nothings and words of reassurance. Henry is warm, tight, and a vision of pure beauty. Alex is committing it all to memory; this really could be the last time he gets to see him like this. Henry babbles and begs senselessly, pulling at hair and nails scratching along any exposed skin they can find. Alex thinks it precious, and lets him have it all. 

After being lost in their own short, pleasurable infinity, Henry is snapped out of it with his climax, eyes clamped shut, mouth open with no noise spilling out. Alex finishes soon after, stifling too-loud groans as Henry clings to him.

They separate after that, spent and out of breath, laying side-by-side. Henry curls into Alex, resting his head against his chest. He’s still flushed, and he’s trembling lightly. 

Alexander is satisfied and sated, combing through his blond hair. He can’t quite believe that this happened— it doesn’t feel real, like a blur or some sort of vivid fantasy. 

“Did you enjoy yourself?” He asks Henry, voice hushed, still carrying through the now-silent room.

“I did.” Henry replies, smile evident in his voice. “Did you?”

“I did.” Alex echoes. It was different then, from how it had been previously. He only showed up at the brownstone before when he was drunk and needy, and God, his Henry had been just the same way. 

He likes it better this way, the two of them sober and shy and giggling like a couple of teenagers.

“What time is it?” Henry asks, yawning.

Alex gazes at the alarm clock. “A little past three.”

“Aren't we supposed to help prepare financial payments and such tomorrow?” Henry asks blearily. “Finalize the headcount and seating arrangements?”

Alex falls silent. “We should go to bed.” He says, as if it isn’t the obvious thing to do.

Henry giggles. “God, we’re messy, aren’t we?”

  
  


“Maybe a little.” Alex supplies, smiling, truly exhausted. 

Henry rolls his eyes, pressing his lips to Alex’s. It’s similar to the endless amount of kisses that they’ve already shared, but it’s different somehow— it feels like the unspoken start of something new, yet familiar.

“Goodnight.” Henry whispers when he pulls away.

“Goodnight.” Alex replies, kissing him once more, just a peck this time.

He doesn’t remember falling asleep, only the fluttering in his chest and the buzzing in his brain melding together before simply ceasing to exist at all.


	9. Nine

Alex knows Henry this way for three more nights after the original incident. Three days of leaving him a shaking, writhing, squealing mess, gripping at his bedsheet and begging for more. Three days of a pair of plush, pale thighs clamped tight around his head. Three days of his name being whimpered and cried out into a nearly-empty room. 

  
  


They never really acknowledge it, other than to ask for more. Sure, they set all of their old boundaries and talk about new ones. They tell each other when something feels wrong— and when something feels right— but they don’t talk about their entanglements. Not even once.

Henry’s back to being omnipresent; when he’s not jumping Alexander’s bones or looking at him like he’s something to eat with his father and sister a few feet away, he’s massaging his shoulders when he’s stressed, kissing his neck in a gesture of affection, and making him coffee in the morning.

It’s the day before the wedding, and he knows that they need to have a serious talk about what they are, and what they want to be. The whole day has been hectic and hellish; Ellen and Leo are supposed to be getting in at midnight, Raf Luna’s getting in at three. Hell, Mr. and Mrs. Okonjo won’t be in until tomorrow morning. Everyone’s stressed, except for Henry, who’s been more than willing to flit about the house, doing last minute odd jobs for whoever asks. Alex wonders if this conversation will be the final nail in his coffin. 

After a rest around noon— Henry’s been manning the ship since four-ish this morning— Alex wakes him up, coaxing him into the living room with the promise of a warm blanket fresh out of the dryer and a cup of decaffeinated Earl Grey; he knows how to persuade him into doing just about anything. 

By the time he’s finished buttering him up, Henry looks rather cozy in his blanket, clutching at his cup of tea, taking an occasional sip. 

“So what’s all this about, then?” He asks, scaring the absolute hell out of Alexander. 

“What do you mean?” Alex asks nervously, and Henry laughs.

“You’re such a bad liar. All of the color left your face just then.” He points out, setting his cup on the coffee table and beckoning for Alex to come closer. “Talk to me.” He implores.

He likes to think that Henry already knows what they’ll be discussing. Still, his hands tremble as he folds them together in his lap after scooting closer. 

“I, well—“ He starts, clearing his throat, not sure how to interpret the expression on Henry’s face; he finds himself settling on amusement before he lowers his gaze. 

“I already know what you’re going to ask me, Alex. Go ahead and say it. There’s no need to be so afraid.” Henry assures him.

“I’m having a moment, alright?”

“Oh, believe me, I can tell.” Henry giggles, and it makes Alex feel like singing.

“Does anything we’ve done over the past week or so mean anything to you?” He asks, not sure whether to find Henry’s raised brow and smile relieving or concerning. 

“Does it mean anything to _you?_ ” Henry asks in return. 

“I asked you first.”

“I know, I want you to go first. These types of things really do make me nervous.”

Alex takes a deep breath for seven, holds it, then lets it out for eleven counts before speaking.

“Honestly? Yes.” He admits, looking Henry in the eyes so he knows that he’s being serious. “The past two weeks have made me realize that I’m not over you at all, not even in the slightest.” He continues, mind rushing at a million miles a minute. “I’m, like, the polar fucking _opposite_ of over you. I _miss_ you, Henry. I miss holding you, and loving you, and laughing and crying with you. I miss cooking for you and holding your hand and coming home to you.” He rambles, wringing his hands together like doing so will make every last ounce of his anxiety leave his body. “Now, if you don’t feel the same, that’s just fine with me. I just feel like I would’ve been kicking myself for the rest of my life if I didn’t tell you that.” He explains.

The way Henry’s looking at him, all shocked and dumbstruck, certainly does not make him feel any better about the confession he just offered up. 

“It would be awesome if you would give your opinion sometime soon.” He teases, feeling just a bit like he’s dying. 

“God, I was right, all those years ago.” Henry breathes, smile forming on his lips. “You truly are as thick as it gets.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Henry makes a flustered noise, pressing his face into his hands.

“Okay,” He starts. “Okay. I’m going to say something embarrassing, and if you give me any shit for it, I’m beating your arse. Got it?”

“Got it.” Alex replies, feeling infinitely perplexed. 

“I’ve been waiting to hear you say that since the day after you left with all your things.” Henry confesses. 

Relief and heartbreak washes over him.

“Oh, _Henry_ —“ He starts, promptly being cut off. 

“I think it finally hit me around the third month that you really weren’t coming home. I was inconsolable. I could barely drag my arse out of bed on a daily basis. Life just felt easier with you, and I had no idea how to function without you in my life.” Henry explains, keeping his hand held out so Alexander won’t interrupt him. “I took control over my life, and I got help. I had to learn how to cope with my anxiety and depression. I had to re-teach myself how to live. It wasn’t because of you; I had been like that since right after we were outed, I think. Just barely hanging on.” He breathes. “My point is that I’m doing better now, and that I would love to pick up where we left off. That is, if you’re okay with it. No pressure; sorry for pushing my little sob story onto you.” He laughs, clearly just as nervous as Alex.

“Don’t worry about it.” Alex replies, smiling. He reaches for his hand, interlacing their fingers. He knows that his hand is clammy, but can’t really bring himself to care. “And as for your question, I would absolutely love to pick up where we left off.” He replies. 

Henry smiles, and it’s the most infectious, radiant thing Alex has ever seen.

Of course, he thinks that every time he smiles.

“Okay,” Henry mumbles.

“Alrighty,” Alex returns, smiling. 

Henry places his hands on Alexander’s shoulder, who takes it as his personal cue, leaning in and sealing the gap between them. Their lips glide together with ease, both of them melting into a slow, steady, lazy rhythm. 

Someone clears their throat in the entryway, and they instantly separate.

A very tired and very unamused Pez in standing there, still clad in their magenta silk jammies and staring at them with knowing, borderline accusing eyes. 

“Good morning.” Henry greets, voice strained, stressed as Pez stares the both of them down. 

“Are you two a thing again?”

Alex looks at Henry, who gives him a curt nod of consent and approval.

“We are.” Alex replies, his insides feeling like a large pile of goo. 

“Good for the both of you, then.” They reply, settling into the armchair, stress weighing heavy on their person; they still manage to look as dignified as ever. “Alexander, my darling boy, I am begging you— _please_ make me a cup of coffee.” They plead. 

Alex laughs, and so does Henry.

“I’m on it. Anything for the soon-to-be newlywed.” He responds, shuffling into the kitchen to put a pot on.

Pez agrees not to tell anyone else; this shouldn’t be about the two of them when they’re literally marrying June tomorrow. 

The day flies by quickly, as does the evening. They sleep in shifts, Henry staying up long enough to greet Leo and Ellen, while Alex is the one to direct Raf to where Oscar’s sleeping; something about early-morning drinks and catching up.

He remembers carrying Henry off to bed, arms dead weights and head pounding as he schelps down the hall. He tucks him in, following close behind.

Henry stirs and awakes, making Alex hold his breath.

“Lovie?” He asks, voice low and sleepy.

“Yeah, babe?” Alex returns in a murmured undertone.

“Did everyone get in safe?” He continues questioning, already on the verge of slipping under.

Alex smiles, smoothing his hair down. “Yeah, everyone’s here. They’re all goin’ off to bed, now.”

“That’s nice,” Henry mumbles. “You need to sleep.”

“I’m just about to.” He promises, setting his alarm for six in the morning, before fully wrapping himself around Henry. “Goodnight.”

“G’night.”

Alex takes what little rest he can get, fully aware of the big day that’ll be taking place only a few hours from now. 


	10. Ten

By the time they wake up the next morning, everyone’s already kicking it into high gear. Raf went and got everyone gas-station coffee and breakfast burritos from some god-awful fast food place, and Alex is multi-tasking, helping Henry with his medication and massaging life into his bones whilst trying to eat this absolutely cursed breakfast. 

  
  


“What’s on the agenda today, boys?” Alex asks.

Oscar goes on this long rant about picking up the Okonjos from the airport and setting up the seating and the arch and Nora’s podium, and just about a billion other different things. 

“So, in short, we’ve got a hell of a lot to do.” Raf chuckles. He looks like he hasn’t slept since he got here.

“It’s nothing that Los Bastardos plus one white twink can't handle— _ow!_ ” He interjects, pulling his hand away from Henry’s when the back of it is pinched.

“If anything, that boy’s an honorary member of LosBastardos for putting up with your crazy ass.” Raf says.

  
  


“Ain’t that the truth.” Oscar replies, and Henry snorts. 

Alex glares at his dad and Luna. “We’ll get the seats set up. Is there anything else you might need?”

“Just make sure everyone is actively getting ready,” Oscar says. “The ceremony’s not until sundown, and I know that, but we’ve got so much work to do, mijo.”

“How does it feel? Knowing that one of your kids are getting married today?” Henry asks behind a mouthful of steak, egg, and tortilla. 

“It’s probably the weirdest feeling ever, not even gonna lie to you, kid.” Oscar replies, downing the rest of his coffee. “It’s weird, but it’s happy.” 

Alex smiles, knowing what he really means; he doesn’t know how to feel now that his baby girl has finally grown up, but he’s happy for her.

“The Okonjo’s plane just touched down at the airport.” Raf announces.

“It’s showtime, then.” Oscar sighs, grabbing his jacket and pulling it on. 

Hugs are exchanged between the four of them, an unspoken rarity saved for special events.

“Bye, guys, see y’all later!” Alex calls, Henry saying something softer that echoes his sentiments. 

Raf and Oscar give their own chorus of goodbyes, and the door falls shut behind them. 

He feels a hand on his chest, and turns his attention back to Henry. 

“How are you feeling about today?” He asks.

Alexander smiles, leaning down to capture his lips in a quick kiss, not really minding that he tastes like bad coffee or mediocre burritos.

“Tired,” He says first, chuckling. “Happy.”

“Elaborate.” Henry demands, knowing exactly what he’s doing and getting at.

“Well, I woke up next to you this morning, so that’s a plus,” He starts, pecking his lips. “Then I got to shower with you; you looked stunning by the way,” He tells him, kissing along his jawline.

“Oh, stop it.” Henry breathes, bordering on giggling, slipping his hands up Alex’s shirt. 

“And then I watched you get dressed, and was baffled as to how you can look good in one of my ratty old shirts and a pair of jeans you broke in years ago— God, Henry, you’re _gorgeous_.” He sighs, lips trailing down his neck, nipping and sucking, stealing the breath from Henry’s lungs.

“We need to stop.” Henry chuckles, gripping Alex by the hips. “I don’t think anyone would be too happy to see me fucking you while you’re bent over one of the countertops right now.” He says, and Alex groans as he pulls away.

“Promise to do it later?” He asks, absolutely delighted by the mental image. 

Henry smiles, grip on Alex’s hips getting just a little bit stronger. 

“You’ll just have to wait and see about that.”

It’s a hectic rush of a morning for them, setting up the benches and the arch and getting Nora’s podium beneath it. It looks lovely, all of it overlooking lake LBJ, water sparkling in the warm end-of-summer sunshine. 

From there, they call about every last thing, splitting the workload in half. The cake, the reception venue, the venue’s inventory of everything they’ve dropped off, the caterer— it’s all very time-consuming. Last minute adjustments are made, and all errors are fixed. The Okonjos are there by the time they finish; they had to check into their hotel room and eat before starting the drive back, and the time is nearing eleven.

  
  


“I do believe this is where I take on Pez and you take on June.” Henry says, brushing stray curls out of Alex’s eyes and back into proper place. 

“It is,” He sighs, smiling. “They’re getting married; can you _believe_ it?” He asks.

“Not really, no.” Henry admits, giggling. “Not so soon, at least. I’m happy for them, though.” He says, looking down at Alex, who stands on his toes to peck his lips.

“I’ll miss you.” He whispers.

Henry smiles, pulling him back in for another. “I’ll miss you, too.”

Alex hears June shouting for him, and he sighs, pulled out of his living daydream. 

“Duty calls.” Henry teases.

“One more?” Alex asks.

“I know how you are, Diaz. One more turns to two, two turns to ten, and then we’re shagging each other against the walls.”

“Would that really be so _bad?_ ” Alex asks, playful.

June shouts for him again, and he groans, reaching up one more time to kiss him. 

“Bye, sweetheart.” 

“Bye, darling.”

And with that, Alex is running off to fulfill whatever request June needs. 

June looks absolutely beautiful. 

There is no other word that Alex could possibly use to describe her. It’s actually making him a bit emotional, seeing her like this. 

Her makeup is all neutral tones, aside from her bold, deep red lip. Her nails are freshly done, acrylics rather than polish; she would have scraped it all of due to anxiety, had she gone with the latter. Her hair is in a wispy milkmaid braid, a halo of hair, a few relentlessly bothersome strands framing her face. Her dress starts off with a white lace bodice, long-sleeved and open-backed, only for the skirt to fade into a soft, dusty blue. 

His mother has already cried. Twice.

“How do I look?” June asks for the hundredth time since pulling the dress on, admiring herself in the full length mirror. 

“Enchanting.” Ellen replies, applying a shade of nude pink lipstick that she’s probably been wearing since Alex was six. “I just can’t believe you’re getting married. It seems like yesterday I was holding you in my arms at the hospital.” She sighs, and Alex can tell she's holding back tears. He’s glad that she’s invested in waterproof mascara. 

“Don’t you start, or I’ll start crying, and this foundation was over forty dollars.” June says, her voice tapering off into a whine as she fans her eyes. “Fuck, Mom. Why couldn’t you say that _before_ mascara and lashes?” She asks, laughing. 

“Well, you’ll both have to forgive me for being sentimental. Both of my babies are happy and in love. It’s enough to make any mama cry, just a little.”

June’s brows furrow, and she turns to Alex.

“You’re seeing someone?” She asks.

He sighs, nodding. 

“Henry and I decided that we wanted to pick up where we left off yesterday. We’ve been trying to keep it under the radar— we didn’t want to one-up you and Pez.” He admits, skin prickling.

June squeals, hitting him on the shoulder at least ten times. 

“Alex, you _idiot!_ You should’ve said something! That’s _awesome!_ ” She exclaims, wrapping her arms around him in a fierce bear hug. 

Alex laughs, hugging her back just as tight. 

“I didn’t wanna steal your moment.” He replies. “That would be a bit douche-y of me.”

“The past two weeks have been all about me. You’re my Dude of Honor; I would’ve let you have your moment.”

“I’m just glad that you two managed to open your eyes and see that you really do feel forever about each other.” Ellen says softly, pecking Alex on the cheek.

“ _Mama!_ ” Alex whines, trying to wipe off the lipstick with his hand, eyes going wide when it just smears around on his skin.

Ellen and June are both laughing. June is the one that caves first, wiping his cheek down with a moist towelette. 

There’s a knock at their door that makes them momentarily cease their shenanigans. 

“Who is it?” June calls. Pez hasn’t seen her since they both woke up this morning; she doesn’t want them to see her fully dressed with only thirty minutes until the wedding. 

“It’s Henry, dropping off some things for Pez.” A muffled, familiar voice announces from the opposite side of the door. 

Alex gets up to let him inside. 

He doesn’t even know how to describe Henry. His blond hair tousled just right, blinding smile, looking sharp in his suit and dress shoes— it’s a lot to take in.

“Hey,” Alex breathes, feeling like he might faint. 

“Hey,” Henry returns, smile not wavering for a second. “May I come in?” He asks.

Alexander nods dumbly, letting him out of the entryway.

“June, darling, you look beautiful. Ellen— I truly have no words.” Henry starts, accepting hugs and friendly pecks from both women. “Only twenty-five minutes until you’re both Mx. and Mrs. Okonjo. Exciting stuff.” He says, passing June a sealed envelope. “I was asked to be sure that you read this.” He explains, before turning to Alex.

“Pez decided that he wanted us in blue ties rather than black, wanted us to match the theme.” He explains, undoing Alex’s previous tie, the grayish-blue one assuming its place. “You look ravishing, by the way.”

“Mmm, thank you.” Alex hums, cupping Henry’s face in his hands. “You don’t look so shabby yourself.” 

Henry rolls his eyes, and then they’re kissing, quick and warm and sweet.

They pull away, and June’s eyes are scanning over the letter, eyes watering as she smiles. Some parts have her laughing, others have her resting her face in her palm.

When she’s finished, she hugs the letter to her chest, grabbing her own sealed envelope off the vanity tabletop, handing it over to Henry.

“Please, tell them I loved it.” She says. “Can you give them this, too?”

“Of course, June.” Henry replies, giving her a fond reassuring look. He gives Alex one more kiss, before making his way back to the doorway. “See you lot in twenty!”

They all shout their goodbyes back, and the door closes. 

Alexander feels just as in love as June looks. 

The wedding itself is one of the sweetest, most enthralling events that Alex has ever attended in his entire life. Little moments stick out to him. Walking down the aisle with Henry and pecking his lips before they separate. June slipping and almost falling as Oscar walks her down the aisle; she’d never truly broken in those _damned_ heels. Pez’s blue suit and the breathless look they had when they saw June for the first time since the sun had risen. Daisy capturing every last detail on photo and video with her cameras. Nora joking about only ever officiating Jewish weddings. Ellen hugging Pez’s mother as their families sit together, the both of them teary-eyed and smiling. Pez dipping June and kissing her so tenderly that he feels heat flooding his face. 

He’s almost sad that it had to end, if he’s honest.

  
  


They get to the reception venue about half an hour later— they had settled on renting out a dance hall. They do dinner and speeches first; Henry’s is nothing short of pure poetry. Alex likes to think his own is the perfect blend of comedy and endearing well wishes. First dances are had; Pez with their mother and June with Oscar, then with Leo. 

The party really starts then, everyone dancing to whatever the deejay is playing. Alex and Henry hover in the corner, mumbling sweet nothings away from wandering eyes. Alexander hasn’t had any alcohol in days, but somehow feels tipsy when Henry presses kisses to the back of his hand. It doesn’t feel real; he never really thought that he would get to hold him like this again, that he could call Henry his own, that he could imagine their own quiet day like this. 

It tugs at his heartstrings to think about.

Not that he would ever admit it. 

A slow song filters through the speakers, and Henry gives him a dazzling, bewitching smile. 

“Dance with me?” He asks, and Alex can’t fight off the grin already plastering itself onto his face. 

“Of course.”

They make their way out onto the floor, comfortably swaying with one another. Henry twirls him, and he laughs, spinning and holding onto him for dear life. 

“As sweet as this has been, I’m ready to take you home.” Henry whispers against the shell of his ear, making him shiver. 

“Well, lucky for you, I’m ready to go home myself.” Alex replies cheekily, loving Henry’s hands on his waist just a bit too much. “I’ve missed being around you twenty-four seven.”

“I’ve missed it, too.” Henry admits, spinning him again. “When does your plane leave, again?”

“Two days from now,” Alex replies, distracted by that damned sparkle in those beautiful eyes of his. “And yours?”

  
  


“Tomorrow evening.” Henry replies. “Separates us for longer than I’m willing to tolerate.” He says, voice low and inviting. 

Alex smiles, wondering how he was able to be so lucky twice in his life. “I’m sure we’ll figure it out, sweetheart.” He reassures Henry, his own voice going a bit husky. “We always figure it out.”

Their lips meet as soon as the last word leaves his mouth, messy and languid and absolutely perfect. 

“I love you,” Alex blurts, their foreheads resting together. “I’ve been wanting to tell you that for six and a half months.”

“I love you, too.” Henry returns, only loud enough for Alex to hear, kissing him again. “Believe me, the feeling has been mutual.”

Alexander finds himself deeply resonating with the last line of the slow song playing:

_Here we are in Heaven, for you are mine at last._

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr: @bi-disaster-fsotus


End file.
